


tell your children not to hold my hand

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, I want more canon alice and jughead interaction, Post 2x21, background bughead but I hope you still like it, basically it's a post ep, because why not, from alice's pov, there's falice but not present falice if you get me, you know I'm not really sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:29:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: Wife of a murderer. How could she not know? Did she know? Perhaps she was aware all along.Alice lifts her chin even higher, higher than is comfortable, and sets her jaw. Nothing, especially not the likes of Hal Cooper, is going to derail her, not now—not ever again.





	tell your children not to hold my hand

**Author's Note:**

> Something a little different for a post ep. It's still bughead, but as it's Alice's point of view they aren't the main focus. Anyway, if you choose to read anyway, I hope you enjoy. This is definitely not the fic I thought I'd be posting next...

She’s used to having the people part for her as she strides through a crowd, purposeful and defiant, but there’s something new tinging this particular episode that makes Alice’s skin prickle. 

 

_ Wife of a murderer. How could she not know?  _ Did _ she know? Perhaps she was aware all along. _

 

Alice lifts her chin even higher, higher than is comfortable, and sets her jaw. Nothing, especially not the likes of Hal Cooper, is going to derail her, not now—not ever again. 

 

The clack of her heels across the polished floor of Riverdale General echoes a memory long since pushed to the recesses of her mind. Another night, another hallway, another Alice. With all the recent events that have transpired, this particular memory has wriggled itself free, springing to the surface with an unrestrained buoyancy that she seems powerless to suppress. It unnerves her, as someone who has spent her entire life compartmentalising, that she can’t just turn this showreel off, change the tape, bring up the lights. 

 

Her steps falter as the image of her husband standing before a screen in their living room—his idea of a spectacular reveal, she scoffs—spotlighted by the projector as he pulled the rug out from beneath their family clouds her vision. A hand lifts to press lightly against the bruises beginning to bloom across her throat and she winces, pressing harder. They can serve as a reminder of her faults, her flaws; next time she won’t be such a fool. 

 

Again, the bruises tug on that same memory, the one that refuses to be overlooked. There’s something about history repeating itself that makes Alice sick to her stomach. It’s been a constant player in her life, the cyclical nature of the fates, so that even when she thought she’d escaped it all she was doing was playing into its hand. A whole lifetime ago she’d told FP that they were done, screamed it even, because if she gave into the love he was offering nothing would ever change. It was a sadistic victory, watching him fall slowly down the same rabbit that took his father before him, smashed bottles and bar fight bruises. But not her, not Alice; she’d gotten out, shed her skin and emerged anew. 

 

At least, so she’d let herself believe. 

 

She lingers by the front desk of the hospital ward, the surrounding chaos of the reception area fading to nothing as she finally lets the memory consume her in its mists. 

.

.

.

_ The hallway leading from the gym had chrome cut-outs of stars and clouds hanging from the ceiling. They passed her in a blur of silver as Alice sped away from the dance, the crooning tones of Fred Andrews’ gentle voice still filtering out through the closing door. _

 

_ The bass in the slow song they’d switched to playing was practically nonexistent, and Alice stifled a sob as she pictured its player, watching her dance with Hal with those dark, shrewd eyes of his, fading, too, as their tune came to its final close.  _

 

_ A lurch in her stomach had made her pull herself from Hal’s hold, his conversation about how much his family loved meeting her before they came raising bile, his arms feeling too constricting around her waist. But the feeling didn’t go even after she’d stepped back, her eyes drifting to look at FP on stage of their own accord. She could tell he could see the horror in her eyes, sense it rolling off her in waves, as she turned and fled from the room, leaving Hal with only an “excuse me,” as she left.  _

 

_ The pounding of her footsteps, skidding across the linoleum as she searched for a way out wouldn’t stop reverberating inside her head, making the room spin dizzyingly. She crashed into the girls bathroom with little grace, not caring to check if it was occupied, leaning over the sink and sucking in sharp gulps of air.  _

 

_ She wasn’t sure how long she spent breathing through the nausea, her eyes screwed tightly shut against the fluorescent lights, but eventually another pair of footsteps made themselves known, heavier than her own had been.  _

 

_ FP, she thought with a worrying amount of relief sagging her shoulders. She should have known he’d come after her; even after everything that had happened between them, every way they’d hurt each other, tried to love each other, he’d always come after her.  _

 

_ The ancient door squeaked on its hinges and she took a final deep breath, needing to tell him before she looked into his eyes and lost her nerve completely.  _

 

_ “I’m pregnant.” Her voice was broken from the acid, but not frail. If she trusted her stomach enough she’d straighten from her hunched and feeble position over the porcelain, showing that even when she had lost control she’d always find a way to claw some pretence of it back.  _

 

_ “Alice…” Her head did whip around then, the deep voice she’d been expecting coming in a different pitch.  _

 

_ “Hal, I thought—” Instantly, guilt overtakes her as she takes in his slackened features. This boy who’d taken her under the wing of the northside when she’d decided enough was enough, flirted with her in English class, asked her to Pop’s, kissed her with a tenderness that had no hidden agenda buried behind it.  _

 

_ His arms were hanging limply by his sides, eyes wide and focused on the flat plane of her stomach. Subconsciously she lifted a hand and pressed it to her abdomen, the instinct to protect rearing its head.  _

 

_ “You’re… Is it mine?” he stammered. _

 

_ No, she thought bitterly, I’m sure of it. But his correct assumption sinks into her skin like fangs, stealing her breath, and all she wanted to do was beat her fists against his chest until they felt numb. Her teeth bit into the inside of her cheek out of habit, catching the already raw flesh there and making her wince. She didn’t end up having to answer, anyway, because Hal decided for himself.  _

 

_ “God, you’re— we’re… you’ve gotta get rid of it,” Hal got out, lifting his arms in such an out of place shrug that the acid in Alice’s stomach turned to venom.  _

 

_ “What?” she snapped, taking a small step back, stunned. Almost like their dance he followed her movement, keeping the same distance between them.  _

 

_ “Think about it, Alice, we’re just kids! We can’t raise a baby—my parents would have a fit,” he told her, rubbing at the back of his neck as he moved forwards, trapping her against the sinks.  _

 

_ “I don’t care about your parents.” It’s not even yours, she wanted to sneer, you don’t even get a say.  _

 

_ But… maybe this is better, maybe FP would tell her exactly the same thing. Hell, he had way more to worry about than Hal did right now, a baby would just make it worse, she knows that, knows that’s what made her feel so sickened earlier. And he hadn't come anyway. He wasn't going to come anymore. She’d used up all her lifelines with him.  _

 

_ The idea of FP telling her those things instead, about their baby—it’s too much to bear.  _

 

_ “Alice!” Hal demanded, pulling her from her spiral. His hand was on her wrist now, his face looming over hers, the grip tightening fraction by fraction. “Do you hear me? Not a word, okay?”  _

 

_ A secret like this would bind them together for life. The certainty of that is too appealing to pass up.  _

 

_ “You can’t tell me what to do, Hal. I’m not one of your prissy cling-ons that bends to your every whim,” she fired back, trying to free her arm from his hold. She could feel the tingles beginning in her fingertips, knowing there was going to be a bruise there.  _

 

_ “You think so? Because I’m sure I can make you do all manner of things.” Hal’s voice was lower, sliding down her spine and raising the hairs across her arms. She looked into his eyes, narrowed and unfeeling in a way she hadn’t ever seen them before, and wonders for the first time if that was true. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

An array of moments take on an entirely different perspective now, and Alice has to fight to keep her feet beneath her. Angling to send Polly to the Sisters for the shame, because it seemed better than the alternative he’d first offered her. Telling him by the river that she hoped Jason Blossom suffered. Laughing in his face when Betty suggested that he could have killed… 

 

A whole marriage built on her own needs, to keep up the facade, to save face, to never show weakness. And all she’d managed to do was taunt him. He’d blamed Betty—

 

That was enough to push her past her horror. That initial gut-puncturing feeling of hearing the confession pour from his thin lips. Betty, who was by far the best of all of them, the girl Alice wished she could have been. She was strong in her defiance, strong in her fight for righteousness, and not just for herself but for everyone around her. She had to know that this wasn’t her fault, that what she’d said at the jubilee was still  _ good  _ at its heart. That it was  _ her _ , and not Betty that was to blame...

 

“Jughead Jones?” She demands, pushing past the others at the desk to address the nurse directly. 

 

“Relation?” the nurse asks, barely looking up from her clipboard. 

 

It sets Alice on edge, knowing the woman was just looking for a way to deny her access, so she grits her teeth and says, “Mother-in-Law,” because in this town of uncertainties she finds herself living in, that’s one thing she doesn’t have trouble believing will come to pass. 

 

“Two-twenty one,” the nurse offers after a beat, scepticism still clear in her eyes. Alice flashes a tight smile and takes off down the hall, finding the room easily. 

 

A steady beep coming from the monitor closest to Jughead’s bedside is the only sound in the room when she cracks open the door. Her eyelashes flutter rapidly as she takes in the sight before her, moisture gathering along her waterline as fast as she can blink it away. 

 

The first thing her gaze falls on is Betty, half-on-half-off the hospital bed, clutching Jughead’s hand (the one free of an IV) tightly in hers, even in sleep. Her position looks uncomfortable at best, ponytail loose and untidy against the sheets, neck twisted awkwardly to accommodate herself whilst not jostling Jughead’s injured extremities in any way, legs barely on the mattress at all. Her body is completely folded around his shape, fitting herself to him as he needs, her Betty. His Betty. 

 

The sight of her, so unkempt and unruly, features smooth in the reprieve that sleep often brings reminds Alice of long car journeys home after family trips up to the city. Betty had always fallen asleep easiest when lulled by the rumble of an engine. When she was a baby, Hal used to take her for trips around the block when nothing else could soothe her. When she’d fall asleep as she got older, he would carry his daughter up the stairs to her bed, legs hanging freely as they are now from his secure arms. 

 

Alice presses her hand to her mouth, feeling her teeth dig harshly into her gums. Betty sighs in her sleep and burrows closer. 

 

“Something else, isn’t it?” A voice from her left startles her, a gasp leaving her throat. FP is looking at her from beneath swollen eyelids, head tipped back against the plastic, hospital issue armchair. He flicks his eyes towards the bed briefly, but they get pulled back to her. “The two of them.” 

 

Alice swallows thickly, already nodding, hand at the base of her throat. “They love each other, no one can deny it.” 

 

“You think we ever loved each other like that?” His voice is light but the question feels impossibly heavy, landing on her shoulders with a crushing weight. 

 

“No,” she replies, faster than she’d expected to be able to. “Not like that.” She chances a look back towards him. “We were too focused on trying to hurt each other to ever get the love part right. We were too selfish.” 

 

“Maybe,” FP hums, the chair creaking as he shifts his exhausted weight. “I did love you though.” 

 

“I know,” she croaks, stepping forward to tuck some hair behind Betty’s ear gently. “Me too.” 

 

“He’d do anything for her if he thought it was best,” FP continues, rubbing his hands across his sore eyes. There’s an undertone to his voice that Alice can’t ignore, an implication, try as she might. “Case and point,” he tries to go for humour, but the beeping of Jughead’s heart monitor somewhat skews it. 

 

Finally, Alice lets her gaze land on Jughead. His face is a myriad of colours, all reds and purples and blues. Most of the blood has been painstakingly washed away and replaced with sterile bandages, but there’s still some crusting on his lips on top of the swelling. He looks smaller than she’s ever perceived him to be, swamped in white sheets and a hospital gown, his skin ashen beneath the blemishes. This boy who tries to be braver than he should ever have to be, fighting for control even when everything works to pry it from his fingers.

 

She can relate to that. 

 

“You’ve raised a good man, FP. And, after all this, he’ll only get better.” The hopeful expression he offers her, broken and cracking around the edges, shatters her heart. Suddenly, she’s seventeen again, looking up to the stage. Alice pushes the memory back vehemently, setting her shoulders. This isn’t about her; it won’t be about her— _ them _ —again for quite some time. 

 

“We’ve both made a lot of mistakes,” she pauses when her own scoff cuts off her sentence. FP exhales sharply, a mirthless laugh. “Even more so once we became parents. But I’d make all the ones I’d need to make if it meant I could still have my children—I’m sure you’d say the same.” He doesn’t say anything, but she knows it’s a yes. “If it hadn’t turned out this way… if they hadn’t found each other…” Her breath shudders on an inhale. “I’m aware that Jughead has done a lot for Betty, particularly because of how I have failed her, and I’ll be forever in his debt because of that.” 

 

The steady beep continues on as they stare down at their children, unencumbered in slumber. 

 

“They’re our silver lining,” FP murmurs, finally breaking the silence. 

 

Silver clouds are hanging above Alice’s head again, and she lets the memory consume her one last time.

.

.

.

Alice forces FP home to shower and change, to eat something that didn’t come from a vending machine, despite his lengthy protest. 

 

“I’ll call if there’s any change, and I won’t leave until you get back. Betty, too.” He holds her gaze for a moment before eventually nodding, slipping out of the door with one last press of his lips to Jughead’s bruised forehead. She sets up camp in his vacated chair, the plastic annoying but at least warmed by his body heat, wondering if there’s any way she could adjust Betty’s position to make her more comfortable without too much disturbance. 

 

Her glasses are perched on her nose, laptop open on her thighs, trawling through the list of articles that need edits for the Register, when a spluttered cough breaks the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. She rises instantly, coming to his side. 

 

“Jughead?” 

 

“Mom?” His voice is scratchy with disuse, but the childlike hope in that single syllable is unmistakable. In that second, Alice loathes Gladys Jones for an entirely different reason. A tentative hand reaches out, sweeping back the matted, dark curls from her forehead.

 

“No, it’s Mrs Coo— it’s Alice. Do you remember what happened? Do you need anything?” She feels a little awkward and out of place, trying to care for him, but then she remembers her debt, what he means to her family—that he is just a  _ boy _ —and it begins to melt away. 

 

He looks confused, battered brow furrowed as he looks at her through one eye, the other still swollen almost completely shut, but then he nods. “S-something to drink.” 

 

“I’ll get the doctor.” She’s halfway turned towards the door when when stops, drawing her lip between her teeth before walking to the other side of the bed. 

 

“Elizabeth, honey?” she stirs softly, shaking Betty’s shoulder gently. “Jughead’s awake.” It’s as if those words held some kind of unseen power, Betty’s eyes springing open as if she were never held by sleep. Her gaze bypasses her mother entirely, drawn to Jughead like he was the only presence in the room, moth to a flame, and Alice finds she is completely okay with that fact. 

 

“Juggie?” she breathes, almost in disbelief. In the next instant, tears are falling down her cheeks, sudden and silent in their torrent, her fingers shaking as they hover over his face, not daring to touch the broken skin. 

 

Jughead winces as he tries to smile, the corners of his split lip twitching. “Said I’d see you soon,” he croaks. 

 

Alice leaves the room to the sound of Betty’s relieved sobs muffled by the skin of his neck, and Jughead’s soft murmurs that he loves her. 

.

.

.

The next time Alice tries to offer something to FP, some days later, he’s defiant again. 

 

“I’m not hearing it, FP. You’re welcome to the guest room if you want, but I think Jughead should stay with us while he recovers from the worst of it. We live closer to the hospital, anyway,” she finishes with a flick of her hand, effectively ending the discussion. 

 

“I can take care of him,” FP argues, not moving to stop Alice in her collecting of Jughead’s duffel bag from the chair. 

 

“I know you can. I’m not saying you can’t. But I’m offering my help—I want to help.”  _ I want to work on my debt, _ goes unsaid, but his lack of further protest tells her he understands. “I’m sure Betty would agree with me.” FP shoots her a flat look, knowing that the mention of her daughter can be something of a weakness for him, and throws up his hands. 

 

“Alright, fine. Whatever you want.” 

 

They roll him to the Cooper’s car in a wheelchair—something he is  _ not  _ happy about even after Betty lands a placating kiss on his cheek—and load him in as carefully as possible. 

 

There’s no doubt that Betty commandeers the situation from there, ordering them to bring Jughead up to her bed while she goes on ahead to arrange the pillows into something of a nest, lining up the remotes on her nightstand, and even going as far as to pull out an old toy whistle made of neon green plastic and hanging it from the bedpost. 

 

“Just in case you need anything,” she explains breezily, a worrying degree of  _ chipper _ in everything she’s been doing since Jughead woke up, when he gives her an incredulous look. 

 

“I’m not  _ whistling  _ for you, Betts,” Jughead croaks, biting his lip against a grimace as he gets settled in. 

 

“That’s what you think,” FP mutters in his ear as he leans over to adjust a pillow behind his back. Both of them take in the ‘positive’ way Betty is tucking her blankets around his legs, ponytail tightly slicked, and say no more in argument. Alice rolls her eyes, setting Jughead’s bag down and leaving to get started on dinner. 

 

The rhythmic bubbling of a pot of soup on the stove is well underway by the time FP makes it back downstairs, looking out of place in her kitchen doorway. He keeps looking around with untamed suspicion, as if this is the final stop on some ghoulish house tour for the macabre of Riverdale. 

 

“He’s all settled in. Betty is… well, she’s got everything sorted,” he raises his eyebrows. 

 

Alice nods, certain there's everything but an itemised schedule up there right now. “And you?” she asks, not looking away from her stirring. 

 

FP rubs at the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’s never grown out of. “I’ll… I’ll come back during the day, but I’m needed over on the Southside for a bit. After everything—Fangs…” There's a moments silence, solemn and oppressive. “I know Jug’s in good hands while I’m gone.” 

 

“You have my word.” He never was very good with the aftermath. Neither was she, if she’s being completely honest. And that’s what she is being now—honest, even with herself. She has no choice now, aftermath is all she has left. 

 

She puts a small vase with a single flower from the bunch on the dining room table onto the tray with Jughead’s soup before taking it off, and putting it back on a further two times. It stays on the tray before she takes it up the stairs slowly, careful not to spill the liquids. 

 

A great, hiccuping sob greets her ears as she reaches the top of the stairs, and Alice fights all instincts to let the tray crash to the ground and rush into the room. Instead, she locks her joints and creeps quietly along the wall, listening intently. 

 

“I-I thought— You were saying goodbye and we’ve said goodbye too many times…” Another sob. Jughead tries to soothe her with gentle shushes and  _ c’mere’s _ , but they don’t seem to hold a candle to Betty’s sorrow. “The blood, Jug, there was so much, everywhere…” 

 

“Betty,” his voice is strained, a different kind of pain clouding his words now. 

 

“There’s always so much blood,” she gasps, her words getting lost in the rustle of sheets. “And I— he said it’s my fault, he—”

 

“Baby, please, take deep breaths,” Jughead pleads. Their tandemed breathing fills the air for a moment. “None of this is your fault, not ever.”

 

“I’m just like him; I  _ hurt  _ people. And now look at you,” she whispers brokenly. The unmistakable sound of lips meeting lips follows, and Alice begins to feel wholly intrusive. 

 

“You  _ heal _ people, Betty,” Jughead says emphatically. “You help them. You’ve— _ god _ —you’ve done so much for me, and the Serpents, I can’t even begin…” He kisses her again. “I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that I would have stopped fighting a long time ago if it weren’t for you, Betty Cooper. I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

 

“Me too,” she responds after a beat. “I love you.”

 

“I’ll never stop loving you.” 

 

_ We were too selfish for love _ . Alice feels her fingers going numb as she grips the tray in her fists, choking on the lump that has formed in her throat. She shakes herself free from the restraints of the moment and steps out of the shadows to knock on the door. 

 

“I’ve brought sustenance,” she announces, holding the tray out. 

 

Betty lifts her forehead from Jughead’s, her hands talking a little longer to leave his cheeks, and offers a shaky smile. “Thanks, Mom. I can take…”

 

“No, I think it’s best if you go and take a shower, Elizabeth. The smell of hospital can’t be pleasant for anyone right now.” 

 

Betty looks between the tray and Jughead, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “I can help Jughead.” Still nothing. “Oh, really, Betty, I’m not going to poison him!” The unusual flare of emotions isn’t sitting well with Alice and her biting remarks aren’t on their usual form. Betty mouth drops open in pained shock, but Jughead’s curves upwards in an amused smile. It’s the subtlest of movements but he lifts two fingers to tap on the inside of her wrist twice. An unspoken conversation passes between their eyes before, with a chaste peck, Betty rises and grabs her dressing gown from the back of the door. 

 

“Forgive my callousness, Jughead,” Alice apologises as she lowers herself stiffly to the edge of the mattress. 

 

“No worries, Mrs C,” Jughead grins, the expression a little dimmed by the current state of his features. 

 

“I think, after all that’s transpired, you can stretch to calling me Alice,” she comments, looking up at him dryly. 

 

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, accepting the tray. “Thank you, for this and,” he looks around himself, “for letting me stay here. With everything.” The words remain unsaid but their meaning is still heard, loud and clear.

 

“You’re family. It’s the least we could do.” At the use of that one word, Jughead’s entire face softens impossibly. The end result has him looking so much like his father used to that Alice finds her teeth settling against the inside of her cheek, a habit long since broken. 

 

“Jughead,” Alice begins as he starts to eat, hoping he’s somewhat distracted by some much needed nourishment. He looks up, spoon still travelling the repeated path between mouth and bowl. “It’s no secret that your father and I share something of a history.”

 

“A fact I try not to dwell on,” Jughead interjects wryly. 

 

“Nevertheless, it happened. And I would be lying if I said it didn’t play a part in informing my opinions of you.” He still looks apprehensive, but there’s a small element of intrigue to his expression. “There were a lot of reasons why our relationship didn’t end as we might have hoped, and I didn’t want Betty to have to go through what I did.” 

 

“But, for all our failings, it’s clear that you and Betty aren’t one of them. And if I had to have anyone holding my daughter’s heart I’m glad it’s you. You’ve proven on many occasions that you’ll do anything to keep her safe, and that’s all a mother could ever ask. And that she’s happy,” she adds, trying her best to hold Jughead’s eye as he puts down the spoon. 

 

“After the events of the last few weeks, I’ve realised that Betty’s happiness means more to me than anything else, and…” she swallows, “sometimes I’ve been to its detriment. But, knowing what I know now, I’m still grateful that you had each other through it all, even if I didn’t always show it. It’s a great comfort knowing that even when I don’t do right by her, you always will.” 

 

“Would you change it? I mean, if you and my dad could’ve worked things out back then, before us, would you take the switch?” Jughead asks, eyeing her intensely over his soup. 

 

“FP and I were never going to get it right,” Alice answers, dodging his question as delicately as possible.  _ Would she? _ She would never wish away her children, not for the world, but the lives they’ve had to live because of her choice to put herself above all else is still haunting her, consuming her. Would it have been better the other way? She can’t say, either. Perhaps it would just be a different kind of bad—that’s all she’s destined to give. 

 

“You know it’s not your fault either, right?” Jughead’s looking at her strangely and she doesn’t understand why until the weight of her tongue betrays the fact she’s been speaking out loud. 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“Everything that… that Hal did,” he forces himself to say. “Betty won’t stop blaming herself for what’s happened, not right now at least. She’ll get there, in time, because she’s smart. But someone needs to remind you too, Mrs C.” 

 

“You don’t know all sides of the story, Jughead,” Alice dismisses, not bothering to correct him on her moniker. “You can’t.” 

 

“I don’t need to,” he replies defiantly. “Everything the Black Hood did is on no one but himself. And he can blame some toxic indoctrination for his actions, some mistake in nature, but that doesn’t give any truth to his excuses. And it doesn’t mean you’re to blame for not noticing anything sooner.” 

 

“Look,” he sighs when she doesn’t respond. “You’re not perfect. But I think you know better than anyone that no one is ever going to be. I know what it’s like to sacrifice your own wants to make sure the person you love is safe, and to put it frankly, it sucks,” he huffs out a laugh. “Whatever you gave up all those years ago… you didn’t know it then but you were doing it for someone more than yourself. Even if it didn’t have quite the intended outcome.” He fixes her with a startlingly astute look. “All you can do now is learn from your mistakes and carry on. We all can.” 

 

Alice’s arms ache, but this time it’s with an overwhelming desire to reach out and pull him closer to her. She doesn’t, for fear of causing more embarrassment than either of them can handle. Instead, she picks the spoon back up and places it in his hand, nodding. He accepts it gratefully and continues to eat. She leaves when Betty renters the room in a cloud of steam, eyes still red and puffy, but looking slightly more relaxed than before. Alice drops a kiss to her temple on her way out of the room, holding her head against her lips for a moment longer than normal before heading back downstairs, turning just in time to see Betty folding herself around Jughead once more. 

.

.

.

The springs in Betty’s bed have never been quiet. The times when she was a little girl and Archie would convince her that no one would catch them jumping on the mattress were quickly foiled by the noise of the strain on the coiled metal filtering through the house. 

 

Alice tries to pretend she doesn’t hear it now, pressing her ears further into the pillows beneath her head. 

 

Under any other circumstances, she’d have been marching across the hall, rollers and all, ready to beat down Betty’s door in a fit of fury. But these circumstances seem to present themselves as an exception to all of her carefully crafted rules, and Alice finds herself reaching a hand out to the empty side of her own mattress, eventually stretching out her limbs until she’s spread across the entire bed. The cold sheets don’t upset her as much as she expects them too, and her heart becomes a hummingbird as a wave of utter calm washes over her every inch. 

 

Maybe this is what freedom feels like, she thinks as she glides her legs over the freshly changed sheets. Maybe this is what she needs right now. 

 

_ You know it’s not your fault.  _

 

She didn’t know that, didn’t dare to believe it. But Jughead had seemed so sincere in his conviction that it was impossible not to wonder if there was truth in his words at all. 

 

There was a lot to be rebuilt, of that much she  _ was  _ sure, and it wasn’t going to be easy. But it would get done, because it had to. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, if you read to the end. Please drop me a comment to let me know if you enjoyed reading <3


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